


Psyrene Landscapes, 2277-2282

by Measured_Words



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Art, Gen, Second Psyrene War, War Art, War feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:57:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: An experience of personal connection pairing landscape photography with sketches from soldier's letters, exhibited by Korisse Valente, attended by the Emperor Consort.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Psyrene Landscapes, 2277-2282

**Author's Note:**

> Remembrance day ficlet, inspired by WWI art and poetry, but rushed in execution :x

There was an accusation in the images, scarred hills and cratered towns paired with cruder sketches. It felt personal, but differently so than Ander's actual trip to Psyra earlier in the year. The project had started with the artist's husband's letters, but he'd died early, and the later years of the war were fleshed out with sketches and notes from other fallen soldiers from both sides of the conflict. The pictures were all more recent, and showed the lie of peace and recovery. Some clever trick had been used to splash hand-scrawled letters against a barren wall, pairing intimate descriptions from the dead with the lingering wounds in the landscape.

It was more affecting than he'd expected, but it was harder to slip out of the room unnoticed for a quiet smoke when you were emperor. He should have taken the suggestion to have the gallery closed for a personal viewing, but instead he left his privacy in Denise's capable hands. It was a dark overcast night, and despite the thick city air, it was all too easy to recall the dugouts choked with smoke and smells of mud, death, and decay. He'd meant to be alone with his thoughts, but instead he was surrounded by ghosts. His life had changed so much, but he could still see them when he closed his eyes – a parade of too many names and faces all with bad ends.

The people in the letters said the same as their living counterparts and the ghosts in his mind – Do better. The cratered and gouged fields cried out not to be forgotten. The world felt very heavy, but he could only do his best.


End file.
